You can tell by the lines I’m reciting
That I’ve seen that movie too
I just saw The Dark Knight. It was freaking great and chock-full of nice-lookin’ fellers. The Joker was sexy in a scary, serial-killer way, Bruce Wayne was devilishly handsome, Harry Dent was mostly rather nice to look at, but there was one character who really made my eyelashes flutter:
photo courtesy of http://www.telegraph.co.uk
Yowza! Commissioner Gordon—Scrubbing Bubbles mustache and all. What do you think?
Never mind. What I really want to talk about are the awesome previews shown before Dark Knight. The word “previews” doesn’t even need “awesome” in front of it, because previews are by definition awesome. If I’m late and miss even part of a preview? I will turn around and walk out, because the experience has been ruined.
I figured The Dark Knight would have good previews, and I was right:
Quantum of Solace. So there’s this thing now where Keira Knightley is in every movie, and for a second, I thought I saw her in the preview. But no. Phew. Anyway, this looks bad-ass. James Bond is mad because his girlfriend from the last movie killed herself. He’s in vengeful mode and carries a big gun. Sadly, there does not appear to be a teeny swimsuit scene. This has a Jason Bourne vibe, which isn’t a bad thing at all. Judi Dench even says, “Find Bond.” Didn’t someone say, “Find Bourne”? ALSO! James Bond/Jason Bourne = same initials! Creepy. More importantly, do you think Daniel Craig is hot or not? I can’t decide. He’s got one of those faces that, if you look at him one way, he’s hot. But then you look again, and . . . not. But he is sexy. Doesn’t it suck that men can be ugly and still be sexy but women have to be pretty, skinny, AND have big boobs?
The Watchmen. I’m not really into the whole comic book . . . sorry, GRAPHIC NOVEL thing, but this looks good. Really good. Strange and good, with weird-looking creatures like a see-through naked man and someone with a black-and-white stocking over his face. COOL! Instead of the poundingly insistent music that usually accompanies previews, we get a creepy song by the Smashing Pumpkins. I know, I don’t like them either, but this song is rather awesome. Better still, the movie is by the “visionary director of 300,” that glorious epic that gave us Gerard Butler in leather underpants . . .
. . .
Where was I? Oh, yeah. The Watchmen looks great, even though there are no leather underpants in the preview.
Watch the trailer (again, no leather underpants)
The Day the Earth Stood Still. Ooh! Keanu Reeves is Klaatu (spoiler)! It’s the role he was born to play. This is a remake of the classic 1951 film starring Michael Rennie and Frances “Aunt Bee” Bavier as Mrs. Barley. Let’s see, who plays Mrs. Barley in the remake . . . dang, there is no “Mrs. Barley” listed among the cast. There’s a “Laptop Woman,” tho, so maybe that’s the updated Aunt Bee character. “December 12 . . . IS . . . The Day the Earth Stood Still.” That’s a little grammatically shady but effective nonetheless.
Before you watch the trailer(s), vote for your favorite Klaatu!
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Watch the trailer
Now watch the original trailer
Terminator Salvation. What? Haven’t we done this already? BO-RING! Oh, Christian Bale is in it. All right, then, carry on. This preview doesn’t tell us much, except that the future is probably pretty bleak and people blow stuff up and Christian Bale is HOT even tho we only see his name. We also learn that THE END. BEGINS. Whoever is writing these taglines needs to pick up a copy of Strunk and White.
Body of Lies. You know, Russell Crowe does fat just a little too convincingly. Remember thin, good-looking Russell Crowe? I guess he’s proof that men can’t be fat and still be sexy. This also stars Leonardo DiCaprio, who is trying desperately to prove he’s a man and not a pretty little girl by growing some facial hair. Meh.
Watch the trailer or not.
Wow! I thought this post was going to be all about movie previews, but it really seemed to be more about hot guys. Funny how that worked out.
May your summer preview-viewing bring you nothing but hot guys, leather underpants, scary music, and NO Keira Knightley!
_________________
Coming this weekend!
- I Get a Colonoscopy so you don’t have to (possibly with exciting video!)
And, later this month!
- I Go to Toronto so you don’t have to
- I Make an Ill-Advised Purchase so you don’t have to
- I . . . something about Zombies so you don’t have
_________________
Preview some funny stuff at humor-blogs.
Hello. Did you know that sometimes I take requests? Well, I do.
But sometimes I don’t. For example, if you’ve recently asked me to sleep with your spouse, visit a VD clinic, or take back your beer bottles, you’re going to be . . . wait a minute. Is the spouse hot? Please send a photo.
The point is, that if you ask nicely, I may just grant your wish. The point also is, if you don’t ask nicely, I may still grant your wish, if it tickles my fancy. My fancy is notoriously ticklish. So you never know. But if you need some guidelines, here are some things I won’t do.
You just might be surprised at what I’ll do. I like to do things. That’s why I started this blog. And, oh, how it warms the cockles of my heart to do something for an earnest young blogling such as Sarah.
Sarah had the good sense to come to me and seek guidance with a bitterly divisive issue that threatens to destroy her friendships and ruin her life. She also recognizes the wisdom of the I Do Things readers and includes them (you) in her request:
Dear JD,
I was wondering if you and your readers could help me name a fish so I don’t have to. Plus this way my roommate and I will stop fighting about it. One request, it should not have a person’s name (i.e., Paul, Bob, Walter, Susan, Hannah, Thelma, etc.) because we don’t want to have friends with the same name as our fish.
Thank you!
- Sarah
Name a fish? This is what I live for. Here ya go, Sarah. Three primo fish names right off the top of my head:
- Fishenheimer
Señor Fishington
Fishbreath
Readers! Please help Sarah and her roommates. Name her fish and you, too, will feel the warm glow I feel EVERY DAY. You might need a special massage tool to get exactly the same warm glow, but you’ll feel pretty darn good.
* * *
Coming this month!
- I Get a Colonoscopy so you don’t have to (possibly with exciting video!)
- I Go to Toronto so you don’t have to
- I . . . something about Zombies so you don’t have
* * *
There’s always something fishy at humor-blogs.
If I tell you what I’m doing today
Will you shut up and get out of my way?
I’ll tell you what I’m doing today: I’m getting a mammogram. Now shut up and get out of my way.
Sorry to be rude, but I hate being late. I HATE it. I don’t know where this hatred of lateness comes from. I’ve gone through the worst-case scenario of what could possibly happen if I were late, and it usually doesn’t involve death or dismemberment. Usually.
But I have nothing to worry about today, for I have scheduled plenty of time to drive to Old Orchard mall, walk to the Professional Building, and check in for my mamm-appointment.
In the lobby of the Professional Building, tho, I experience the cold panic of uncertainty. This doesn’t look right. Is this where I get my mammogram? I can’t remember the name of the office, and the directory doesn’t list anything obvious, like Boobs Squashed Here or Slammogram Express. Shoot. I should’ve confirmed where the mammo-site was when I made the appointment. How do they expect us to remember these things after a whole year has passed and studies have shown that even recreational drug use can impair memory?
I do see ”Midwest Women’s Health”; that must be it, right? There’s another woman waiting for the elevator, and because she has giant circus boobs, I figure we’re headed for the same place. Looking only mildly offended, she tells me she’s not, in fact, mammo-bound, but she agrees that the Women’s Health suite might be the place.
It’s not. The receptionist directs me to Nordstrom’s. Gosh darn it!
Nordstrom’s is wa-a-a-ay at the other end of the mall. Like, 17 miles away. I’m the fastest walker I know, but I’m no match for all the monster-truck-sized strollers that have suddenly materialized. Why are babies allowed at the mall? When I was a baby, I didn’t get to go ANYwhere. And I certainly didn’t get to travel in a stroller the size of a taxi.
It’s hot and humid. Let the sweating begin! But JD, I hear you say, surely you applied deodorant before leaving the house? No, smart-ass, I did not. You’re not supposed to use deodorant on mammo-day. Why? I don’t know. It’s not my armpit they’re shoving into a vice and compressing into the approximate thickness of a sheet of paper.
AND now it’s raining. I’m walking fast—really fast, and sweating. And I’m going to be late. Oh, God. LATE!
Once in Nordstrom’s, I see the “Mammography Suite” sign right away. But . . . the hell? The Mammography Suite is not only empty, it looks like it’s been deserted since World War II. A sign helpfully tells me the suite is moving upstairs on August 2, but it’s still July! Where are they? I poke my head in all the rooms but find only a crumpled-up paper gown.
Fighting back tears, I run to the perfume counter and ask breathlessly where the mammograms are. Upstairs? Even tho it’s clearly NOT August 2? Fine. Upstairs.
It’s a lie. There’s nothing resembling a mammography suite upstairs. I ask the concierge, who tells me the mammography suite is closed—CLOSED!—until August 2. I’m flummoxed. “But they told me Old Orchard!” I whined, noticing that I’m already 6 minutes late.
“Well, there’s the place on Woods Drive.”
Dammnit! THAT’s where I go. They call it the Old Orchard facility because it’s off Old Orchard road. Idiots.
I try not to speed, but that is my normal driving mode, so I simply try not to kill anyone. I squeal into the parking lot and tear into the building. By now I’m a sodden, sweaty, panicked mess.
“MAMMOGRAM???!!!” I scream.
Downstairs. The sign next to the elevator says “LL” but the elevator button says “B.” WHICH IS IT? Are they the same? You need to be more clear about this, building designers. Anxious, soaking-wet, sobbing mammo-patients do not have time to pick over these semantic details.
OK. I’m there. I’m 20 minutes late. The receptionist is extremely judgmental. She gets on the phone and says, “Your 3:00 is here, and your 2:40 JUST. NOW. SHOWED. UP. Should I have her wait?”
She tells me that I can wait and they will try to squeeze me in. I’m so flustered I don’t even make a bad joke about being squeezed in.
So I was late. Big deal. In the end, what was the worst that happened? I lost 4 pounds from sweating, I screamed at a couple of people, I burst into tears at Nordstrom’s, and I got a blister from speed-walking in flip-flops.
Oh, and I may have knocked over a baby stroller or two.
* * *
Coming in August:
- I Get a Colonoscopy so you don’t have to (possibly with exciting video!)
- I Go to Toronto so you don’t have to
- I . . . something about Zombies so you don’t have to
* * *
Yikes! I’m barely hanging on at humor-blogs.
All the downtown ladies call him treetop lover
No, I DOUBLE dare you:
I double dare you not to break into a happy jig when you’re standing in line at the convenience store, buying a normal-sized Snickers bar and the new Us magazine (IN VITRO!), when, all of the sudden, “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” comes on the radio.
Guess what? This is not only a dare but a test. I just upgraded to WordPress 2.6 and want to find out how many things are messed up.
So far, my categories are gone. MY CATEGORIES! GONE! How will people know that I “do nude”? Eh, I’ll figger it out.
In the meantime, why don’t you go download “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” if you haven’t already. And dance a happy jig for me.
Stay tuned!
Can’t stand still while the music is playin’
What the hell am I supposed to do with these?
Before you answer, let me share a seemingly unrelated anecdote.
In her later years, my great-aunt Mil lived in a nursing home. This was no fun for anyone, least of all her. We tried to cheer her up with bakery cookies—you know the kind: the tiny buttery ones with multicolored sprinkles. She loved those cookies and was reluctant to share them. Sometimes we had to get a little rough.
Then one day she received a package containing a very fancy-looking tin of cookies. They were lemon and powdery and completely sprinkle-free. Great-Aunt Mil removed the tray of cookies, looked at them with skepticism, and asked tremulously, “Are these to be eaten?”
Well, that, essentially, is my question to you, regarding this bowl of cherries. They’re red and shiny and round and pretty. But are they to be eaten? I put one in my mouth and I’m pretty sure the answer is “no.”
So, what the hell am I supposed to do with them? They’re obviously not edible. Are they to be cat toys? Are they to be given to my neighbors who are already stealing my tomatoes? Are they to be frozen, shellacked, and made into some sort of Christmas ornament? Are they to be thrown out even tho I paid $5 for them at a farmers market because for one crazy minute I thought I actually liked cherries?
Can someone please tell me???
* * *
Coming in August:
- I Get a Colonoscopy so you don’t have to (possibly with exciting video!)
- I Go to Toronto so you don’t have to
- I . . . something about Zombies so you don’t have to
* * *
They’ll eat anything at humor-blogs.
Don’tcha call me pudgy, portly, or stout
Here’s the dilly-o: I could stand to lose a few. I got a little junk in the trunk. I would not be described as a stick figure. Do you see what I’m doing here? I’m trying not to use the word “fat.” It just makes things worse. Plus, do I really think I’m fat? No. I’m zaftig. I’ve got a little extra padding. There’s more of me to love. Dare I say I’m bootylicious?
But then I see this in my email inbox:
Julia Claire, THIS is why you’re fat—Please don’t be disgusted though, it’s NOT your fault.
Holy crap! So not only am I fat after all, but someone out there (who knows my middle name!) has figured out why.
Hi Julia Claire,
My name is Suzanne, and I’m a real doctor that would like to show you why you may be “fat.”Press here to see the disgusting truth that is keeping you from losing fat.
Readers: do NOT press there. I am begging you. If you don’t believe me, here’s one of the photo captions you will read if you do:
Would you trust anything living in your bowels that has teeth but NO eyes?
Um, is trust really the issue here? If any of those things were living in my bowels, forget trust, I’d grab a rusty saw and remove them posthaste. Also, am I more likely to trust a bowel creature that has teeth and eyes?
Maybe they lost their eyes after “pressing here.” I know I almost did.
ANYway, it seems that the key to this program is eliminating your body of parasites and harmful bacteria. Excuse me for being gross, but don’t we have poo for that? Last time I checked (and I don’t mean I literally checked my poo), humans were built with this amazing system called “GOING TO THE BATHROOM” that is supposed to get rid of all this stuff, teeth, eyes, and all.
But it doesn’t matter, because, you see, I’ve found a quicker way to lose weight:
“Press here” and lose your lunch. Repeat.
It’s working like a charm.
* * *
They be checkin’ they poo at humor-blogs.
